Some End Of The School Year Thoughts

by Ajike Akande

Well folks, we survived.  This Thursday is the last day of school.  As we kick the school year to the curb, I’ve got three things I need to share.  

1. I would be remiss if I didn’t send a little love to the Late Slip Lady given our history outlined here and here.  

Dear Late Slip Lady,

I am sorry about our daily lateness for the past few weeks.  It’s just that I feel no pressure at all to get the children to school on time anymore.  I refuse to fall for the principal’s claim that important learning takes place in the first ten minutes of the school day.  Let me remind you, I am a teacher; this is a lie.  In June, this is an outrageous, are-your-pants-actually-on-fire, lie!  The report cards have been written, signed and placed in manila envelopes.  The teachers are lovingly caring for their students and getting them to help tidy and pack up the classroom.  

This chill feeling about the morning school bell is precisely why the other day when a (killer) squirrel came into my house at 8:30 am, I was not at all worried about the time and getting the kids to school.  I hope that my neighbours also feel chill about not getting places on time because when I ran out of my house screaming for Wife, I also ran to the neighbour’s and asked that they come with a broom to help shoo the (killer) squirrel out of the house.  They were happy to help.  They are very neighbourly.  They may have regretted being so helpful when they realized that in rushing to my rescue, they locked themselves out of their house!  Ooops!  Sometimes there are downsides to being neighbourly!

Anyway, Late Slip Lady, as you can see that right until the bitter end, I have good excuses for our lateness.  I’ll miss you and I know that your summer will feel empty without the Silverman-Akande kids.  Perhaps you can get a job at their summer camps.  We will totally be late for camp too!  

Love,

Late Mommy

2. I have a lucky bunch of school-agers.  While our kids are super challenging at home, they have captured the hearts of their teachers at school.  I know how fortunate we are.  There will be years when this won’t be the case.  There are kids for whom the end of a school year is a much-needed break from being misunderstood and poorly taught.  We will have years like that, I’m sure but we are so grateful that this year we got lucky.  On the first day of school I posted this on Facebook:

To my kids' teachers:
Today I am sending you three of my babies - two more than last September. Please know that they are not perfect. Oh no they are not! But they are perfectly precious. And they are my babies. And I know what it means to be in your shoes, so I know that it won't take long before they feel like your babies. I promise that I am sending you the best kids I've got. I am not leaving the "good" ones at home. 
I hope you have a wonderful day meeting all of your new school "babies". May there be at least one moment today that leaves you excited for tomorrow! 
love, 
Ajike

Here is my end of the year message to their teachers:

To my kid’s teachers:

My kiddos are going to walk out of your room on the last day of school and they’ll say good-bye the same way they have all year.  They won’t stand on ceremony because it’s the last day of school.  They probably won’t hug you or say thank you or anything like that.  They have grown to take you for granted.  I know it’s not okay to take people for granted, and I wish they wouldn’t take you for granted but you’ve become a big part of their life.  They’ve grown close to you and have grown to trust you to love them.  It’s true.   They really believe that you love them because that’s how you’ve treated them.  They think you’ll always be there for them so there’s no need to make a big deal of saying good-bye.  The last minutes of the last day of school are surprisingly anticlimactic.  

I hope you have enjoyed your students as much as my kids have enjoyed you.  I hope you are as smart and right as they say you are about everything, because since you came on the scene in September, I’ve been wrong about almost everything!  

Thank you for making me feel good about sending my kiddos off to school every day!  

Love,

Ajike

3. I have a favour to ask all of you, particularly those of you who are in our lives or who are part of our Facebook or Twitter family (It scares me that I have a Twitter “family” and I truly do not at all understand Twitter).  Please do not brag about your wonderful magic moments with your children over the summer.   Don’t gloat about your camping trips and your 2-hour portages when even the youngest member of your family managed to pitch in.  Don’t post pictures of your hikes or trips to fantastic water parks and other special places that children seem to love.  This kind of show-offy behaviour just makes me feel bad.  Just because I have to take a few anti-anxiety pills and book a babysitter to allow for recovery time just to take our kids to the beach, 20 minutes away, does not mean they are not going to have a magical summer!  It’s just that when I am trying to ignore them and catch up with my peeps on Facebook, they gather around the computer and ask about all of these happy children in fantastic photos and then they want to know why we don’t do super fun things as a family.  It’s hard for them to understand that Mommy and Mama love them but they are truly out of control and therefore we avoid going out in public.  Clearly we hadn’t thought through how hard it would be to have so many children, so close in age!  So really, for the children, if you must have some kind of magical summer, could you just keep it to yourself?  

Alright, I’m glad I got all of this off my chest.  Bring on summer holidays (and the total lack of magical over-the-top experiences)!  

XO Ajike

Hope to avoid THIS next year!!

My Day By The Numbers

by Ajike Akande

When one does the same thing day in and day out, one is bound to wonder how many times one says and does particular things. I decided to keep track for a day and here’s what I came up with.

• 7 – the number of bowls of cereal I prepared last night (and every night) for the morning. Z & G-Dog always have two bowls.

• 2.5 cups – the amount of rice milk wasted this morning, which may explain…

• 4 – the average number of cartons of Rice Milk the children consume every week.

• 1 – the number of bowls of cereal F-Jammie wasted this morning (and every morning) because “It’s soggy, Mommy!”

• 7 – the number of times I threatened to take breakfast away from the next person who got up from the table.

• 7 – the number of times I made empty threats undoubtedly contributing to my children’s awful habit of ignoring much of what I say.

• 3 – the number of times this morning Z yelled for me because F-Jammie & Mr. Lee were up to trouble

1. Mr. Lee was trying to shave his arms with my razor. Thank God he was unable to remove the protective cover.
2. F-Jammie got her hands on the milk and was seeing how much all the bowls could hold.
3. Mr. Lee was drumming on a stool with crayons. This concerned Z only because it was loud and he could hear the TV. It concerned me because the stool is now brown speckled.

• 2 – The number of times I kindly asked Z & G-Dog to watch their brother

• 1 – the number of times I yelled, “I thought I said WATCH your brother!”

• 0 – the number of times I apologized for being a totally unreasonable mother that expect the older children to watch their impulsive, wild, little brother.

• 1 – the number of times I licked my thumb and wiped the gunk off of Z’s face.

• 1 – the number of times I called out to Z, as he was walking into school, telling him to lick his finger and wipe off the gunk under his nose.

• 1 – the number of times I wondered if I am the most embarrassing mother ever.

• 2 – the number of Egg McMuffins I inhaled this morning on the way to the drop-in centre.

• Infinite – the amount of guilt I feel for still eating at McDonalds.

• Infinite – the amount of relief that I feel that my standards for what I put in my body versus what I put in the bodies of my children
• 1 – the number of times I made somebody’s jaw drop when I said that I have five kids including two sets of twins.

• 3 – the number of times I noted out loud that F-Jammie & Mr. Lee were playing really nicely on their own.

• 10 (at least) – the number of times I wondered if them playing nicely without my interference is an indication that they’re ready to spend their days away from me (their mother who has put her career on hold to be with her children).

• 5 – the number of times I said, “Okay, it’s time to go” before ending my conversation with another adult and making a move to leave.

• 3 – the number of times I pretended that I didn’t hear F-Jammie asking me for lunch. (Every single day with this “feed me” stuff!)

• the number of times I looked in the fridge, saw wine and wondered if it was too early to have some.

• 20 (at least) – the number of times I called one of my small humans “monkey” or “baba”

• 5 (at least) – the number of times I said, “I love you!” and “Who loves you?”

Seen & Heard: Little Twins Edition

The Littles

Have you ever heard someone say, “I’ve always wanted twins!”?  I was one of them.  I thought it would be so cute and that it would be so great raising siblings that were, obviously going to be the best of friends.  Twins are cute, and I think right now, our two sets of twins love to be with their belly buddy.

I actually didn’t think twins were that big of a deal until I had F & L!  Miss O and G-Dog were small, slow to develop, babies.  I could manage things with them and their big bro; so much so, that we thought we should add one more S-A kiddo to the mix.  A few weeks into F & L’s life, I joined the local multiples group and started thinking more about what makes twins (or higher order multiples) unique.  I needed to talk to people in the know.  I needed to see families who have survived the early years of parenting multiples.  I needed advice and discounts, Lord, did I need discounts! Raising five kids isn’t cheap!  Anyway, the point is, when F & L came along, I finally realized that this twin sh*t is real!  

I stupidly thought for a long time, twins were just two kids.  You just do everything twice.  Do not believe this.  I was wrong.  Twins are more than double.  When you have twins, you actually are raising three entities with different temperaments.  Why three?  Take F & L.  There’s F-Jammie and there’s Mr. Lee and then there’s this whole other “person” we interact with that is F & L put together.  Let’s call it The Force.  The Force is beautiful and funny and adorable.  It is loving and creative.  It is also fierce and way, way bigger than any of us.  

The truth is, The Littles are hilarious.  Think about how two year olds are portrayed in humorous parenting books or on the most cliché TV show, those are our kids.  What looks like neglect to onlookers, is Wife and I just, throwing up our hands and surrendering to their wackiness, because we truly are not in control of The Force!    It’s hard to explain, but I’ve collected a few moments to share with you so you have some sense of just what life is like with The Force.

Seen and Heard in the Silverman-Akande House:

The Little Twins Edition

1. Heard:  “No more Mommy’s milk right?  Can I go back inside your tummy?”  - Mr. Lee

2. Seen:  Literally half of the toys in the playroom piled into the bathroom.  

3. Heard:  We’re playing Hide & Zeke – F-Jammie

4. Seen:  Entire bottle of hand sanitizer poured into leather boot and face painted with red lipstick…. At 8:15 am on a school day.            

                                         

5. Heard:  Fu*k it!  - Mr. Lee many times a day

6. Seen:  Two 2 year olds on chairs at the kitchen counter holding a knife, sharp scissors and a package of pepperetes, hovered over a bowl full of cheerios, water, milk and cherry tomatoes.... at 8am.  I thought I’d go to the bathroom.  This was a big mistake.  

7. Heard:  This conversation at 6:15 am:

L:  Oh, I have pockets

F:  I don’t have pockets

L:  You can have this one.

F:  Ok.  Oh it’s too big

L:  (inaudible mumbling)… that’s the deal!

8. Heard:  Me: You cannot push your penis and vagina together!  You just can’t!

9. Heard:  F:  L can you wipe my bum?

10. Heard: After learning to give fist bumps when they are pleased about something, this conversation happened back when they were still tandem nursing

F:  Bump it!  (holding left breast)

L:  Yeah, Bump it!  (holding right breast)

Me:  Oh my God, NO!

11. Seen:  

12. And the cutest… Heard:

Me to L:  How much do you love your sister?  

L:  This much (arms spread wide)

Me to F:  How much do you love your brother?

F:  Twice!  

There you have it.  A little taste of The Force, God love ‘em!  

XO Ajike

Letting go of the School “Game”

by Ajike Akande

Before I begin today’s post, I just want to take a minute to hold space for the girls, as well as their families, who are missing in Nigeria.  We are praying for your return.  

You may not know this about me, but I can be a little slow on the uptake.  Sometimes I have to make the same mistake over and over again, before I a) recognize my mistake as an actual mistake and b) vow not to repeat it.  

As a parent, I make plenty o’ mistakes.  It is possible that as a stay-at-home parent I have even more opportunities to make mistakes while interacting with my children.  It is also possible that our eldest Z has been the recipient of my ghastly parenting mistakes more than any of our other children.  He has, after all, been around the longest but I think there’s more to it.  

Here’s some radical truth telling:  

1. I am harder on my seven year old little Big guy Z than I am on my other four kids.  I am not proud of this.
2. My expectations are often too high and my frustration when he does not meet my expectations is also too high.  This is not okay.
3. My tough approach with him is about me, not him.  He’s a small human and I need to keep my crap in check.  
4. My belief in his abilities is about what I know to be true about him.  
5. I love our Big all that there is.  I need to parent him in a way that he feels my love.  Even when I’m frustrated or scared or without wine.  (The wine thing is real.  I am slightly more agreeable while sipping on a glass of white wine.)

Why the public confession?  This morning I had a brief conversation with the principal at my kids’ school.  We were late, so she greeted us.  Because she was the first adult I had come in contact with, I said to her “I’m so frustrated with him!” pointing at Z.  She asked what was going on and I explained that according to his teacher, he continues to be too distracted and social in class and as a result he is not completing his work.  I told her that he is sitting at a desk by himself – something he’s totally okay with as he knows he needs space from others, but is refusing to use other strategies that the teacher and I have suggested to help him focus better.  His mind is all over the place and although he is capable of completing his work, he can’t focus.

I spend a ridiculous amount of time urging my unique, social butterfly to play the school “game”.  Do the work; ask for help when it’s needed and be kind to everyone.  While I’ve never said this, I just want him to lay low and simultaneously stand out - at the right time and in the right ways.  Frankly, I am raising a black boy fully aware of the long history of racism in our school systems.  I have seen school offices disproportionately frequented by black boys and I am terrified that my boy will be one of them.  Like so many other black boys, I am afraid that he will be seen as a trouble maker because he’s squirrelly and right now, less interested in school and more interested in pop stars, fashion (I should write a whole post about his fashion statements.) and the grade two girls!  He loves school but is not particularly concerned with learning.    He talks too much and quietly daydreams all day.  

So I’m on him.  I nag him.  I don’t let up.  But something happened today when I was talking to the principal.  She said that Z is stubborn and maybe he needs the threat of working in the principal’s office to get him to focus.  I told her that the office is like a playground for a distractible person and that the teacher and I would continue to find ways to help him within the classroom.  I walked away feeling like she was pointing the finger and blaming Z instead of considering his learning needs.  She thinks this is all his fault and that he is not completing his work on purpose.  In truth I don’t know that the principal thinks poorly of Z.  She has actually been very supportive in many ways of our family since we joined the school community.  I believe that we are all, including her, doing what we believe is the best for the children at the school, however, I don’t always agree with the approach.

My boy is not stubborn.   To be honest, he so easily distracted that I don’t think he could be stubborn even if he wanted to!  If he can’t get his work done because he’s talking and daydreaming; if all the other kids to whom he is talking can complete their work but he can’t, maybe this little situation isn’t his fault at all.  

He’s seven.  He’s creative and smart, charming and articulate – oh and precocious as hell.  What is the school doing to make sure that he learns and gets the most out of the could-be engaging curriculum?  As a teacher, I try to remember that if the kids aren’t learning, I’m not actually teaching.  As a little guy in grade one, he is still learning to learn and he deserves teachers who are learning to teach in a way that that can happen.  

I’m not saying teaching is easy and I’m not saying that my son’s teacher isn’t doing everything that she knows to help him, but I am saying that I am done begging him to just play the school “game”.  I’m his mom.  I love him all there is.  I will continue to insist that any time he spends in the office is because of truly abhorrent behaviour and not incomplete work.  I will make every effort to try to re-teach what he hasn’t learned in class in a way that takes into consideration him as a learner.  I will fight for him to be seen for who he is and I will do what it takes to make sure that he continues to love school and with any luck, loves the learning that can take place there.  

Every so often I leave my little ones notes at the breakfast table.  Tomorrow I will leave this for Z:

To my Z,

I am so sorry that I get too angry, too often about your work at school.  It is the grown-ups job to work together to help you be the best that you can be at school and beyond.  I know that you are trying hard and that you want to follow your teacher’s rules and meet her expectations.  I promise to help find ways to make learning at school better for you and speak to you about school in a way that is loving and understanding.  

You are amazing, creative, smart, funny and kind.  Mommy and Mama love you more than you know.  

Have a great day!  

xoxox  Mommy

P.S  You still can’t watch TV!   (I’m still me!)

XO Ajike

The Late Slip Lady - The Less We See Each Other, The Better

So last November, I shared with you my issues with school lateness in my letter to the Late Slip Lady.  You may be happy to know that The Late Slip Lady and I haven’t seen each other in a while.  While I wish that I could say that I haven’t been late as frequently, the truth is, I’ve figured out a way to avoid her.  G-Dog, who is in junior kindergarten and Z, who is in grade one use two different entrances at school and because of their ages the entry procedures are a little different.  So with that in mind, this is how I have managed to steer clear of the Late Slip Lady…

The parents over at the kindergarten entrance work together to protect each other from the Late Slip Lady’s pursed lipped smile and the unforgiving comments from the big boss, aka THE PRINCIPAL!!!  We sneakily hold the door open as parents call from down the block or across street “Wait!  We’re coming!”  It’s an unspoken rule, before letting the door close behind you, after saying good-bye to your kindy kid, you check the surroundings for harried looking parents and children running for the door.  

After the rushed entry, we console each other when we share the guilt we feel for pulling on our five year old’s arm so hard that their feet hover above the ground as we take giant, quick steps toward the school doors.  We watch as our little ones, just shoved through the door, try to wave good-bye before being whisked away by a teacher repeating, “Hurry up!  Hurry up!” (You would think that experienced kindergarten teachers would know that begging children to hurry up impacts the speed at which they move not at all!) The scene at the Kindergarten doors is sad and perhaps unnecessarily dramatic, but it is significantly better than the scene by the school’s main doors just outside of the office.  

It is clear, after all these months of being late for school, that the Late Slip Lady perches behind the tall counter in the office to protect herself from the mob scene of parents and children lined up to get a late slip.  Let me remind you, I totally get being late.  These days, with my many young ducklings, when it takes approximately three to five minutes per child to get out the door, being late is just part of our every day.  And I know that like us, every family is fighting some battle or another in those precious minutes before the school bell.  However, regardless of my understanding of lateness, even I am puzzled about why the line up to see the Late Slip Lady has grown so much since the beginning of the year. I realize now that while she shot me disapproving looks occasionally, the Late Slip Lady and the big boss were quite lenient with my family and me.  When my kids and I scurried into the office out of breath five minutes after the bell, she sometimes just smiled and ushered us down the hall without marking us late.  It was like a free pass.  Without the unspoken grace period, we would have really been officially late every single day!

At some point, however, it was decided by the powers that be, that if students do not enter the school with their class when the bell goes, they would be marked late.  Doors are locked immediately after the bell and students and parents have to be buzzed into the school in order to go to the office to get a late slip and connect face to face with the principal who escorts the late child, with loser parents who don’t have a good relationship with time, to their class.  Eeeek!  Parents walk out of the school with their heads hung low right into the arms of all of the other late parents.

The scene inside the school and just outside the main doors is ridiculous.  Getting to school 2 minutes after the bell should not cause such stress!  What is more ridiculous, however, is how I have chosen to deal with this situation.  I’m a bit of a wimp and I, all too easily, lose my confidence when I feel that I have disappointed someone.  One time, when I signed Z into school late, I was crying so hard from the guilt of making him late again, that I actually couldn’t say good-bye!  He even tried to comfort me by saying, “Being on time, isn’t really important Mom.”  Clearly, I have taught him well!  So now, to avoid the whole dramatic scene, I kiss and hug Z by the car and send him through the main doors on his own to deal with the wrath of the Late Slip Lady and principal.  The adults in charge know that my seven year old is not responsible for getting himself to school.  It’s not his fault if he’s late.  He’s really just a casualty in this late-for-school drama.  Instead of looking at me with disgust and disappointment, the principal and Late Slip Lady probably just shake their heads with an apologetic smile.  “Z, we are so sorry about your bad luck in the mom department.  One day you will be old enough to walk yourself to school and you will have a chance to buzz about with your classmates, unpack your backpack and hear the national anthem – all the things that happen in the first ten minutes of the day that have no impact on your overall academic success.”

Listen, I’m not saying that it is not important for children to be on time and ready to learn when they are participating in the rigid system of public education.  As a teacher, I appreciate when my students arrive all at once so that I have an opportunity to greet them and help them settle into the classroom.  And I know that being on time and meeting deadlines is a life skill and certainly not a bad one to possess.  I also know, however, that I have never once woken up and announced to the children that we were going to take our sweet ass time getting to school because rules are for losers and we’re too cool for that!  

So to the Late Slip Lady & Big Boss Principal:  We’re all just doin’ the best we can with the children and life circumstances we’ve got.  I’ll support you, if you support me!  

Now parents stop reading and get your kiddos to school!  

XO Late Mommy Ajike

Spring Has Sprung...Bring On The Dirt

by Ajike Akande

It’s Earth Day and in honour of Earth Day, I thought I would share a bit about my relationship to my children’s relationship to the earth or the ground or the dirt.  Wait, what? *Spring has sprung in this part of the world, and I couldn’t be happier.  Winter has been… you probably don’t need me, along with everyone else, to describe exactly how this past winter has been.  So while, I am still wandering around in a proper winter scarf and a lighter version of my winter jacket much to my friends and family’s dismay, I am thrilled to be outside with fewer layers and bigger smiles.  I am so very glad that snowsuit season is done for one more year, but after a long weekend with several trips to our local park, I just have to get a few things of my scarf-adorned chest. 

We live a block away from arguably the best park in our city.  It’s sort of famous.  People drive from all over to come hang out at our shady, spacious park with its big old-school playground (the kind that celebrates splinters and calculated risk taking), its icy cold wading pool, and awesome sand pit with real metal shovels, plenty of wooden boards and very few rules.   Our park has a food stand that serves healthy enough food so that kids never get hungry and adults can, without guilt and too much planning, arrive at the park, find a comfortable bench, release the kids and hang out for the whole day.  It’s amazing.  On farmers’ market day in the summer, the crowds are heavy until at least 7 pm and Friday night community suppers are all the rage with the regulars.  It’s truly a great place to be.  And for us, with our large brood and our connections to the park’s “lifers”, everybody knows our names or at least the names of our kids which is super handy when you’ve got so many.  We are super lucky to have this park a block away.  I love it.  For realz. 

But…. (you saw the “but” coming, didn’t you?) it is hands down the dirtiest park ever.  For most children - most definitely mine, this is a big part of its charm.  My get-along gang of Silverman-Akandes fly across the field into the playground area to take their spot at the top of the super fast slide which always has loads of old, dusty sand sprinkled on it to make the end of the slide that much more exciting.  Or they dash to the sandpit to find the best shovel and bucket for building a trench – always at the end of the pit where the mud is thickest and darkest.  F-Jammie doesn’t even waste time with a shovel and the running water, she prefers to use her hands to collect rocks in the sandpit and lick them clean.  True story.  I thought that having 2.5 year old park goers meant that I wouldn’t be dealing with the summer butt rash that is a direct result of pooping out sand.  Apparently, I am not that lucky. 

I love my park community, and I think after seven years of raising little Silverman-Akandes in the park, we’ve grown (literally and figuratively) on the community too, but I think we just have differing feelings about cleanliness.  I cringe when I see my kids sit in the wet sand pit in the clothes that I lovingly washed and hung to dry.  I prefer to look away when they kick off their shoes and run around and then climb into my lap leaving those disgusting feet dangling over my would-be clean dress. 

In my world, cleanliness is, you know, next to Godliness.  In the world of the awesome families that hang at our local park, it is possibly the exact opposite.  They, like Wife, believe that if the children don’t have dirt smeared across their faces at the end of a park visit, they probably didn’t have a good time or are being parented by me!  I hesitate to make any assumptions about race and park cleanliness, but I’ve only ever seen the antiseptic skin cleaner Dettol in black folk’s homes.  I’m just saying, that it is possible that in the eyes of my black people, being outside and having fun doesn’t necessarily mean being covered in dirt.   Okay fine, this is a ridiculous gross generalization and if any readers have been offended, I do apologize, but my informal research at the local park has revealed a possible correlation between the degree to which parents delight in their kids’ filth and their race! 

So there.  The truth is out.  For me, spring is a time to rejoice and a time to rebuild my tolerance for the dirty, dusty, awesomeness that is our local park.  I have replaced the bucket that I leave by the back door that serves as our post park footbath.  I am unpacking “park clothes” from the bins in the storage room and preparing my never-convincing speech that I give to Wife and our caregiver about the importance of changing the children into said “park clothes” before they head to the park and removing the aforementioned clothing before coming inside the house upon their return.  Listen people, I’m at the park every day.  I love it.  My kids are happy and I am happy.   We make nice with our amazing dirt-loving friends and cherish every last park day until the fall.  But my home?   It’s my slice of clean.  What happens at the park, including the collection of dirt and grime, stays at the park! 

Bring on spring.  I’m ready! 

XO Ajike

* If your kiddos have forced you to watch the movie Frozen a bagillion times like mine, you will totally get this reference.  

Blacks & Jews in Dialogue: Passover Edition

It’s Passover – the Jewish spring festival that “commemorates the emancipation of the Israelites from slavery in ancient Egypt” (www.chabad.org),  and like in years past, I am taking this time to think about what this holiday means for me and my inter-faith, mixed-race family.   Last night, during the first Seder – the ritual service and feast on the first two nights of Passover, Wife asked me what I was going to write about this week.  My response?  “Blacks and Jews in dialogue.”  If you know the story of Passover (Read it here) you can see that its account of the Jews escape from slavery lends quite nicely to connections between the black and Jewish communities. 

I love  Passover.  It’s a holiday, consisting of rituals and symbolism that makes sense to me.  It’s a story that I feel is easy for everyone to connect to and echoes what I believe is ultimately true in this world – we belong to each other.   So after last night’s Seder,  I was inspired to write about Blacks and Jews and our connection. 

Sometimes, however, we think we are writing about one thing and we end up somewhere totally different.  Maybe this only happens to me, I don’t know much about writing!  Anyway, I think what’s really on my mind is what it’s like to raise Jewish children as a non-Jewish mother. 

It is possible that I spent my whole life preparing to be a non-Jewish mother raising Jewish children.  I was born to a black woman with a Yiddish nickname – Zanana Shepherd, aka Shepsyl.  My parents and siblings waited for my arrival and the completion of a home renovation while living with our chosen Jewish family, Auntie Honey and Uncle Roy, my mother’s high school friends.  My first friend ever was my Jewish neighbour who I now refer to as “Life” because, that’s our friendship – for life.  I mumbled along while one of my dear friends sang her Bat Mitzvah portion, because I knew it too.  And when I knew I was about to receive the news that my father was dying, I asked that same friend to take me to her synagogue in the middle of a summer afternoon because I needed to pray and at that time in my life, it made sense to do it there.  I bought Wife her first Menorah for her new house and we gladly jumped from under the Chuppah (Jewish wedding canopy) over the broom at our wedding.   I’ve been in dialogue with Jews forever.  Oh, by the way, Wife thought I should mention all my Jewish ex-boyfriends, but I shot her a stern look and told her that I’m not writing about that kind of dialogue!   

When Wife and I talked about having kids we knew that it was important to each of us that our kids be black and Jewish.  Apparently, Wife has always known that she would raise black children!  (Not funny?  Not even a little?  Okay, sorry!)  We didn’t think that it would be easy to raise trans-racially adopted, bi-racial, Jewish children as two women, but we’re pretty awesome and we assumed that we possess the tools to at least do a mediocre job. 

Please know that I could (and will) write a whole post (or five) about our experience thus far raising black and bi-racial children, but in the interest of space, I’m going to stay on religion. 

So here’s how I thought it would work.  I believe in God.  I believe that there are many paths to God and Judaism is one of those paths.  Perhaps naively, I believed that as long as I could share my belief in God with my children, I would be able to do it within the context of Judaism.  I figured I knew enough about and felt comfortable with the rituals of Judaism and I was determined to learn how to create and maintain a Jewish, God-loving home.  Raising Jewish kids as a non-Jewish mom has gone pretty well so far.  The older children understand that they are Jewish and all of them are familiar with the more regular rituals like lighting candles and saying blessings on Friday nights to welcome Shabbat. 

Regardless of our success so far, I struggle with parenting my Jewish kids.  While I have always participated in Jewish religious traditions, I don’t feel Jewish.  I don’t feel like I am passing on or sharing a piece of my self with my children.  I was raised as a non-religious Christian, but I sang Christian songs at Sunday school and at overnight camp.  I made Christian crafts for holidays and while I celebrated Jewish holidays with friends and chosen family, those celebrations weren’t in my home with my parents as “elders” sharing their traditions.  I feel  Christian.  The God of my childhood is a Christian God. 

Sometimes, being a mother, particularly the at-home mother, trying to maintain a Jewish home feels forced and unnatural.  I find it hard and wonder if it will always be this way.  I don’t want to convert to Judaism and right now it feels too hard to take courses to learn about Judaism and raising Jewish children (I did try a course through Mothers Circle a few years back.), but I do want our home to be a place where we know (and may believe in) God and live Jewish or at least Jewish (Oh come on.  I couldn’t resist!)

What I find pretty cool and what I didn’t expect is that even though Wife was raised culturally and religiously Jewish, she too is just learning to be a Jewish mom.  She is discovering what feels sacred to her from her cultural and religious heritage and what she wants to share with her family.  She is learning from a parent’s perspective about the value of what she has always referred to as boring religious and Hebrew school.  She is buying the beautiful things to set the table for our Seder and beaming when her son reads the Four Questions.  She may be learning her role as a Jewish mother with familiarity and memory deep within her, but like me, she is learning to create a Jewish home for her Jewish children. 

Our big guy cried to come home early from day care today and our middles are out of sorts and full of beans and tears this evening.  I imagine like most young Jewish children today, they are recovering from a late night spent with family and friends at a joyful Seder.  Passover really is a beautiful celebration.  Happy Passover or Chag Sameach .  

XO Ajike 

The Silverman-Akande Important Book...or (what Ajike decides to do when experiencing post-manicure euphoria)

You know what gives me a sense of renewed optimism?  A manicure. (Now wait a minute; this blog is a place of love, not judgment.   If you just rolled your eyes, shame on you.).  Stay with me, and you’ll understand why manicures equal hope.  

After I get my nails done, all the jaggedy edges on my hands are smooth and shiny, colourful polish is perfectly applied.  I leave the salon with soft hands and the belief that like my nails, my life is smooth and perfect.  I manage to drive home - favourite music blaring, without doing any damage to my perfect nails.  I walk through the door and greet my excited children and flash my hands in their direction – nails still perfect (The children are routinely blown away by the beauty that is my hands post-manicure.).  But within minutes I’m grabbing a roll of tape from someone who thinks it’s a good idea to unravel the whole thing, trying to dress a doll for another kid and digging for homework crumpled at the bottom of The Big’s backpack.  I’ve been home for 5 minutes.  I check my hands.  My polish is chipped.  

This is exactly how my life is.  There are moments when I think life is perfect, moments when life is perfect - like my nails immediately after a manicure and then,  before I know it, the veneer and perfection is chipped.  

So why my rambling story about how a manicure gives me renewed hope and why I believe that my life can be compared to a manicure?  Manicures and the feeling that life is perfect can lead me to make some unrealistic plans.  

Yesterday, when I was experiencing this kind of post-manicure euphoria, I came up with this crazy activity for the family to do during supper.  I excitedly told wife over the phone to be home in time for dinner.  During this sacred, family meal I thought it would be fun (and possible) to write the Silverman-Akande Important Book, not unlike the famous Important Book and The Other Important Book by the children’s author Margret Wise Brown.  “I want us to write a page about each member of our family highlighting what’s important about each of us at this moment in time.”  “Great idea honey!”  (God love this lying woman!)

Is that not the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?  Are we not the most “together” family this side of Lake Ontario?  Do we not just drip with functionality?  Seriously people, I planned a dinner activity!  For once there would be no holding one kid down while I shovel food into my mouth with the other hand, not bothering to chew my food before yelling, “Hey, we do not throw food in this house!”  This idea came to me during a manicure-induced state of renewed optimism and dammit we were going to do it!  

In the end there was some begging kids to cooperate and 2 kids sitting on my lap while I tried to write, as well as Wife arguing with G-Dog (that’s her dinner job), but below is what we come up with.  Here is a snapshot of all the Silverman-Akandes and what is important (to know) about us!  

It’s some pretty cute stuff.  You should totally try this with your friends and family.  Really.  Even if you have to beg.  

XO Ajike

The Silverman-Akande Important Book

*Please note that some of the lines are direct quotes from the kiddos.

The important thing about being Mama is that she loves our family very much.

She likes haircuts, hockey and bourbon.  

She takes a Caribbean dance class with Mr. Lee and F-Jammie every Saturday .  

Her job is to take us to pee before she goes to bed.  

But the most important thing about Mama is that she loves our family very much.  

The important thing about being Big Z is that he loves to dance Hip Hop.  

He is a good big brother.  

He likes to make jokes and looooooves to eat.

He hangs out with the grade 2 girls at recess.

But the most important thing about being Z is that he loves to dance Hip Hop.  

The important thing about being Miss O is that she is always singing.  

She was in Mommy’s tummy with G-Dog.  

She has a huge smile.

She is always climbing on the couch and hanging upside down.  

But, the most important thing about Miss O is that she is always singing

The important thing about being G-Dog is that she loves long, tight cuddles.

She likes to watch Diff’rent Strokes and Frozen.

She loves to eat snack, pizza and sushi.

She was in Mommy’s tummy with Miss O.

But, the most important thing about G-Dog is that she loves long, tight cuddles.

The important thing about being Mr. Lee is that he likes to dance to Gangnam Style and “Decoration” (One Direction).  

He loves Eddie and Alex and their green garbage truck.

He always needs to see what’s cooking.

His hair is awesome.

But the most important thing about being Mr. Lee is that he likes to dance to Gangnam Style and “Decoration”.  

The important thing about being F-Jammie is that she totally dances with her shoulders.

She changes her clothes all by herself many times a day.  

She loves colouring.

She likes to watch Barney and Frozen.

But the most important thing about being F-Jammie is that she totally dances with her shoulders.

The important thing about being Mommy is that she loves our family very much.

She’s fun and silly.

She likes manicures, writing and white wine

She eats fruit every night after we go to bed.

But the most important thing about being Mommy is that she loves her family very much.